HOW, THEN, SHOULD SMITH VOTE?
[1920]
THE talk on the veranda had been prolonged, and only my old friend Smith, smoking in meditative silence, had refused to contribute to our discussion of the men and the issues. Between campaigns Smith is open-minded on all matters affecting the body politic. Not infrequently his views are marked by a praiseworthy independence. Smith has brains; Smith thinks. A Republican, he criticises his party with the utmost freedom; and when sorely tried he renounces it with a superb gesture of disdain. But on election day, in a mood of high consecration, he unfailingly casts his ballot for the Republican nominee. A week earlier he may have declared in the most convincing manner that he would not support the ticket; and under extreme provocation I have known him to threaten to leave the Republican fold for all time.
Party loyalty is one of the most powerful factors in the operation of our democracy, and it has its special psychology, to which only a Josiah Royce could do full justice. Smith really thinks that he will bolt; but when it comes to the scratch an influence against which he is powerless stays his hand when he is alone in the voting booth with his conscience and his God. Later, when gently reminded of this mood of disaffection, he snarls that, when it comes down to brass tacks, any Republican is better than any Democrat, anyhow—a fragment of philosophy that is the consolation of great numbers of Smiths.
Smith, as I was saying, had refrained from participating in our talk on that August night where the saltless sea complained upon the beach and the pines took counsel of the stars. Then, as the party broke up, Smith flung his cigar into Lake Michigan and closed the discussion by remarking with a despairing sigh—
“Well, either way, the people lose!”